Potato Jamboree

You arrive at the Potato Jamboree. Justin Bieber is slated to take the stage in 20 minutes. You grab a drink, and eye the audience. Nothing out of the ordinary. The excitement is palpable. You walk around, checking out the feminina (or whatever gender you are attracted to) situation. Not bad. It is the Potato Jamboree after all. You hear a low rumble, followed by the fury of a fiery vengeance you can’t even begin to fathom. Someone has ingnited a Potato Bomb, and its hot, tubular pestilence rides throughout the street, taking out everyone and everything in its path. The contents of the avenue melt down into a coagulated sludge of what used to be people, vehicles, and Justin Bieber. You die. You lose. Cripes.